


Robert Small is Anything But

by Elmxvc



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Trans Character, Cult Implications, Eventual Sex, M/M, Mention/Implications of Past Cheating, Religious Implications, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elmxvc/pseuds/Elmxvc
Summary: Robert and Joseph had their friendship, had their fling, and it's all over. Time has passed after their unfortunate encounters, reveal of cult leadership, and love affair but Robert's wounds are still open. Almost as an answered prayer, a new neighbor has moved into the cul-de-sac, Damien Bloodmarch. The curiosity and lacking filter of Robert Small will get the best of him in this encounter, as he makes amends with his regretful past, sews his wounds shut, and starts on a new path with Damien, much to Mr. Christiansen's dismay.





	1. Welcome to Maple Bay

"Way make a statement,"

A foreign voice, gritty, gruff, and stale tone. The heat of August is tough. Painting a house by his lonesome was tougher, and the seeming tease of a stranger made it no better.

"I beg your pardon?" Damien began, voice collected and poised just as he had always rehearsed while simultaneously turning his shoulder on the ladder he stood on. The voice, it belongs to a man of underwhelming appearance. Tanned skin, dark set and sunken eyes, brown hair peaking with introduction of gray. The leather jacket and red jersey v-neck he dawns easily adds to the intimidation factor, yet his stance speaks lax.

"The house. The color. Black, it makes a statement in this neighborhood." His voice is dead, yet somehow firm. In his hand, Damien finds a red solo cup, its contents unknown. He continues. "Before you start to think it's a bad thing, it's not- But don't think it's good either." What Damien couldn't begin to decide is if this was a call to criticism or an introduction. What he knew is that his curiosity led him to stop his progress, and listen.

"Hothouse effect. You like being cooked alive?" He raises a brow, challenging the man on the ladder. "Because that's what you'll get with a black house. Absorbs more rays from that big ol' ball of heat we call the sun." A single finger pointed up to the sky, yet his face remained fixed squarely on Damien.  
The roller in his hand strained against his grip as he struggled to find adequate argument. A canine sunk into the inside of his cheek as his eyes darted down. The eye contact he shared with this stranger was already unbearable, and being pinned to the wall with such a loaded question. "Well..." His free hand brushed a few loose strands of fallen hair back and away from his face as he straightened his posture. "Couldn't I ask the same of you?"

There was the confidence he needed. A confident smirk found way to his face as that same free hand propped against his hip, watching Robert process the turning question. "Your attire. Black. Leather. Do you like being cooked alive?" He found way to use his words against him, whether it be a playful jab or an unwelcome notion, his words could be taken either way, and he couldn't help but praise the cleverness found in his counter.

But then Robert's expression turned, the curve of his lips dipped, slightly, tight pressed into a challenging smirk. "Touché." The same dark of his eyes found way to meet Damien's, and that once building confidence dissipated into nothing. Had he done good? The older male took a few steps forward. Despite the small platform he stood on, he cornered himself, paint roller clutching closer to his chest as Robert approached.

A hand extended. Damien exhaled, guard dropping once more.  
"Welcome to the neighborhood." The hand stayed extended just a moment longer, allowing Damien to note its calloused look and touch when bending down to reach for it.

"It is my utmost pleasure," Damien began when finally labeling the situation as non-hostile. He spoke with sincerity, less tension and stale carry once their hands met, and a warming smile began to match his lips. "My name is Damien Bloodmarch. It is my greatest pleasure and honor to have made residence here in Maple Bay. Now what might I call you?"

Their hands release and he stands straight now, all before opting to take a break if just to level down and maintain better conversation with Robert. 

"Unimportant. I'm with the housing and residence committee, I came here with word and recent complaint that what you're doing is against resident regulation." 

Suddenly, staying up on that ladder didn't seem like such a bad idea. Damien's eyes widen. If he was pale then, he'd was sickly now; the only indicator of him being alive came from the red threatening to rush his face as it creeped over his neck and ears. He took a step back again, instinctively clutching onto that beloved paint roller as if it would pry him free of such a tense situation. 

"Oh..." His voice grew small, faint, feeble even as he shrunk into himself. "You have my dearest apologies I-"

"Robert."

He lifted his gaze to see that smirk on the other's face again, yet he kept his weary stance. 

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Robert. Robert Small. I'm not part of any damn housing and residence committee." The entire display and flip flop of Damien's expressions had paid its dues, and the tension was even starting to burden Robert with guilt for inflicting it to him. "I was kidding." His voice remained just as dry before the red cup found press into his lips. "You ever see a committee member of anything wear what I do, or drink what I drink?"

Rhetorical questions. Right. The younger forced a weak chuckle, eyeing the cup and what he assumed to be whiskey sloshing inside of it.

"I'm your next door neighbor. House just to the right of you. Figured I could drop by and let at least someone know I came back."

A puzzled look greeted Damien's face at the last of his statement, the curiosity and beauty of being gullible just as gold as the first time Robert pulled his strings.

"Came back?" The paler of the two placed his paint roller down to separate their barrier, arms loosely folding over his chest as his head took a natural tilt. "And what is it that you are coming back from?"

"Why don't you check the probe in my arm and find out?"

He couldn't have just assumed camping, could he? By the third time, he had learned not to press. Robert wouldn't win again.

"Ah- Yes well..." He cleared his throat, rocking on his feet a bit before averting his gaze down to the ground. "It was quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I really must get back to painting, the first coat has already set and I would prefer to not fall farther behind in this renovation process-" 

Before he could continue, a hand rose in protest. "I'll help you." Less of an offer or request, and more of a statement of fact, Robert now placed his cup down before opting to peel from his leather jacket. "Allow me." The content of his words spoke reassuring, yet his tone carried as pressing, almost an order that Damien had no right to refuse.

Implying he would refuse. The summer heat left him exhausted and a second set of hands seemed like far from any kind of nuisance to Damien. 

"Well, if you insist- Who am I to refuse?" He countered, watching the other drop the leather jacket into the grass. "My son was assisting me earlier today but I fear the heat had become too much for him, though I can't say I blame him." He kneeled down, offering him a second roller left disregarded in the tray. "The porcelain complexion of Bloodmarch is a blessing, yet like all things, I must begrudgingly say it has it's own cons, one of which being exposure to the sun."

His eyes moved from the house back to Robert, who had already began to slather another coat of paint onto the house. From his observation, Robert had synced out of their conversation and into work immediately. His lips pressed tightly together before exhaling, and dropping to coat his roller in paint and press it into the wall. 

"That's what sunblock is for," The silence was broken. It seemed every time Robert spoke, Damien would stop his process to listen. "But you're welcome. I'll pick up the slack where your kid left off, we'll be done by six. He can thank me later." A smile fixed on Damien's face, small, yet apparent before going back into his work.

"You have my greatest expression of gratitude for this gesture." He seethed just as quietly as before, voice hinting with warmth.

"Sure." Robert retorted, free hand wiping the slick of sweat already pressing against his forehead. "What are neighbors for?"


	2. Housewarmings and Best Intentions

By the time they had completed their work, Robert's assurance had been abandoned with the sun. Evening was at it's final stretch, the last descending waves of light ample to make out the silhouette of his sweat drenched face from a hard day's work. 

Sure, this wasn't a job finished at six, but it was finished, and for that, Damien was grateful.

Both rollers dropped into the tin tray laying soft in the grass.

"So that's it, huh?" Robert began once the silence admiration of their work had been handled. Granted, they had moments throughout the day of chatter, a bit shallow for his tastes, but it couldn't be helped. Often a time when the heat had become too much he considered leaving, but one thing he was insistent of was keeping his word, no matter the situation or person, Damien being no exception. 

His collar was stained and damp from sweating, forehead, arms, and the nape of his neck still beading and slicked with it. The feeling was disgusting. Uncomfortable, a foreign concept of exerting more force than usual or necessary. 

"It would seem so." Damien piped back in return, frame facing the building forward and with firm admiration. His face was warm, soft, appreciative, something Robert would read once turning his head to look at the stance he took, a prideful one at that. Hell, it must have been contagious, seeing as even Robert couldn't help but turn back and face the house and swallow the impending smile the threatened to break his hard features. 

Their exchange in glances was something, toggling between the admiration of their hard work and reading between each other's expressions and finding mutual pride in appreciation in the moment, and each other's shared work. Whatever it was, Damien could feel it, grow a fondness for his neighbor, an opportune friend given from his action and committed performance of the day. Despite being something as boring and mundane as painting a house, he enjoyed the light chatter, the company and assurance of another in this new neighborhood that told him he wasn't alone.

Yes, Robert could be seen as reliable. Whether he'd want it or not, Damien would find was to express his gratitude, somehow. For now, he simply turned facing Robert, the once intimidated and tense approach he had against him now reduced to a kind and genuine smile, one Robert himself found lingering on if just for a moment.

Quite the naive type, this one. He made mental note of it, read it in his carry and stance. This wasn't Robert's ideal way to spend a Friday night, he wasn't the volunteering type, the kind type, the selfless type to give up prime opportunity to bar hop in exchange for housework with a stranger. But something about his smile was enough to know he was grateful. Briefly so, he glanced over those soft features, musing the slightest curve of his lips in reaction before folding his arms.   
  
"Nice work." 

Short spoken, but it was the most emotion Robert could invest in the moment. Now that all of their work was put away and cast aside the bodily response of baking alive outside for hours was finally beginning to wear him down. Worse than a hangover, he was more self aware of the disgusting collective grime of salt kissed sweat on his skin, how his clothes kept damp in all the worst friction places, how his skin burned and his limbs ached. 

It was a victory, this entire ideal. Introductions, gritting through the small talk, stepping out of his physical and verbal comfort zones if just to make an impression. These were all things Robert was far from accustomed to, and thus labeling them as a victory was fitting. But what was a victory without reward?  
  
"You drink?" Robert began now, knuckles rolling as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders a bit, moving until appropriately limber. "We worked hard. No shame in celebrating with a drink."

There he went again with those less than suggestions. Yet he would learn it to be an acquired taste on Robert, something that made his personality, something he meant no harm in. Though his company and time were both appreciated, he couldn't find adequate reason to go. 

For one, he was out of his element, appearance wise. That was on thing Damien had failed to consider, and though he knew the initial reaction to his traditional wear would be shocking, he wasn't quite sure how well Robert would take to it. 

"Well," Damien began, clearing his throat while pushing a few forward falling strands of hair behind his ear. "I wouldn't consider myself an indulgent drinker, and I'm far from comfortable in what I'm wearing now," He gestured to the white t-shirt he dawned, the old paint smocked jeans and worn tennis shoes he sported. This wasn't his traditional wear, and with good cause considering the work they had been doing. He'd be damned if so much as a single drop of paint stained his cloak, not at that price, no sir. "And," He pressed his falling glasses closer into the bridge of his nose, consciously trying to cease his constant fidgeting. "-Not to mention it's well passed dining hours, I've yet to even start on dinner and Lucien is-"

Before he could finish, another voice cleared behind them, the soft shuffle of grass being indicator of another person's company. They both turned.  
  
"Trying to get our new neighbor to join your bar hopping club so early on, Robbie?" The voice tsked, light and playfully. "Now what happened to setting good impressions?" 

He visibly tensed against the nickname, something unnoticed unless taken with a careful eye, said eye belonging to the blond figure before them. He smirked. 

"Joseph Christiansen," Damien faced him now, Robert's arms crossed. "I would shake your hand but well, I'm afraid my hands are full. Mind giving me a hand, Rob?"  
  
"Don't call me that." His demeanor was changed, just as cold as Damien initially remembered but with more hostility hoisted over. Begrudgingly, the older took to the saran wrapped plate of cookies in his hand and the pitcher of tea in his other.

Despite his cold approach and apparent disinterest in Joseph, Damien took to his hand, taking a small bow at the shake. "Damien Bloodmarch, the pleasure is mine." Something about this Joseph was easier to take to, his entire carry seemed more approachable than his encounter with Robert. The grin adorning his face in response only served to strengthen this observation.  
  
"Charmed." With that, he allowed a gentle squeeze into Damien's hand, fashioning himself with a signature smile to follow. "As per tradition, when someone moved into the neighborhood my kids and I make it our personal effort to welcome them with some homemade cookies- I hope chocolate chip is alright with you." His voice was engaging, eye contact rightfully timed, the dynamic of it was free flowing and easy, quickly causing Damien to relax in his presence.   
  
"And this?" Robert chimed, waving the pitcher a bit in his grip. "I'm not your bellhop, Joseph. What's your end goal here? What're you trying to poison this guy with?" What could have been taken as a joke was hard to consider with his tone.

His lips pressed tight a moment, corners still curled up as he rolled his eyes a bit, amused even. "Just trying to make our Mr. Bloodmarch feel welcome to the community, is that crime?" Before he could so much as process an answer, Joseph's attention turned back to the still quiet Damien. "He's joking. It's just iced tea- Unless you consider sweet tea poisonous. What can I say? Southern roots make it hard to go to any kind of tea that isn't sweet." He warranted a small wink towards the other, now turning to take the plate and pitcher from Robert to rightfully exchange to Damien. "Let me know what you think of it. I'm just two houses away, you know." 

Robert groaned, short cut underneath his breath while his eyes narrowed to slits against Joseph. He stood in silence, tight bodied and tense in his company. "Well, before I go, now that I have you, I feel like it'd be a good time to throw a suggestion out to you," No. Robert could see where this was going, only gritting his teeth and balling his fists under tight crossed arms. "I'll be having my annual back to school barbecue for the cul-de-sac tomorrow afternoon if you'd like to join. All the kids will be there, along with the rest of the street, would you like to join us?"

The slightest tilt of his head and the sweet suggestion in his voice were both hard to turn down. Clad with such kind incentive and opportune time to get to meet the rest of his neighbors, it was hard to say-

"No." Robert snapped. "I know what you're doing. The answer is no." Before he could speak, Damien paused, pulling from the sugar spoken trance Joseph lured him into if just to snap back into Robert's dialog.

"Now Robert, you know you're invited too, choose to do what you want with that invite, but why don't we leave Mr. Bloodmarch's decision to his own?" He raised a brow in defense towards Robert who now stood tightly in his own ground. They both turned to face Damien, cornered again and left to almost cower behind the plate and pitcher in his hands. 

"Well, I-" God. It was hard focusing when two sets of eyes were fixed on him. He was pushed into his own corner. "With such kind incentive, and ample time for my son Lucien to meet the rest of the cul-de-sac, I don't think I'd be in the right mind to say no." What was it that Robert was so adamantly fighting against? He offered a smile back at Joseph, only turning to read the sour expression struggling to be swallowed by Robert. 

"Splendid." Joseph's hands clapped into each other in victory. "I can't wait to have you join us." With a curt nod in both Robert and Damien's direction he took a step back to excuse himself. "Two houses down, you can't miss it. Until then, it's been my pleasure, Damien." He bid his farewell with a small wave before taking his leave, leaving Damien and Robert in each other's company once again.  
  
"He was very-"  
  
"He's a prick." Robert interrupted. Before hearing anything else he took to his jacket that lay disregarded in the grass. "Don't argue with me. Don't ask why. Hell, you don't even have to trust me. Just don't say I didn't warn you." Along with the jacket he took to the cup he once dropped to the floor, downing whatever liquid was left in it. "I'll be here tomorrow to walk you."  
  
With a sigh he pinched into his temples, a seeming internal conflict brewing over and to be dissected away from Damien's company. "And before you ask if I have a choice," He began, exhausted yet knowing, as if reading Damien's mind. "I don't." With that he draped the jacket over his shoulder, turning his heel to walk over to his own house.  
  
"I mean it. Check the tea. I'll come by to make sure you're not dead." He called over his shoulder, taking slow paced steps to his own house. "Tomorrow. Six. I'll be here."


End file.
